


grab me by my ankles, i've been flying for too long

by arashiyama (harukatenoh)



Series: Arashiyama Jun Birthday Countdown 2018 [4]
Category: World Trigger
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/arashiyama
Summary: Arashiyama is a star and he is burning out.





	grab me by my ankles, i've been flying for too long

**Author's Note:**

> ARASHIYAMA BDAY COUNTDOWN DAY FOUR WHICH IS NOT LATE HAHA I DIDNT FORGET: pining and introspection bc i love him 
> 
> work title from sky full of song by florence + the machine

Jin Yuuichi can see the future.

Jun cannot.

In the short distance Jun can see ahead of him—and it’s not enough, _never enough_ —all he ever sees is Jin’s back. The only thing that lies ahead is time and Jin steps into it, trailblazing, lighting up a path in the dark. All Jun can ever do is follow behind and trust, trust, _trust_.

The two fall into place easily because despite the distance that stretches out between them, they share many things. The dark cloud of responsibility hovers over Jin, and the same weight drapes itself like a cape over Jun as well; an attire fit for a king. It drags at his feet and trips him up but he grins and bears it because he knows that Jin fares worse, as laissez-faire as he can seem.

  


Jun always thinks he’s ready for each day, but he never is. He never feels his lack of foresight so strongly as he does in the mornings, when the sun is still rising and he can trick himself into thinking that this day will be different.

Jun never feels prepared at all; most days, it seems the only thing that keeps him going is muscle memory. Smile, laugh, stand up straighter: it is a routine built into his bones, and he goes through every motion with mechanical ease. He is almost proud of it. He thinks about the grand, unforgiving concept of giving everything you have to something and he isn’t presumptuous enough to think he’s anywhere close, but it’s a lofty, shining goal. Everybody tells Jun that he’s always been one for heights, for glitter.

Netsuki tells him there’s an extra interview tomorrow, asks him _can you do it?_ and he replies _yes, of course_.

Satori tells him he has a school trip that day, asks him _can you cover?_ and he replies _yes, of course_.

A worried mother stops him on the streets, asks him _can you save her?_ and he replies _yes, of course_.

He wonders when his words became so empty. Jun realizes, without bitterness, without fight, that everybody around him thinks that he has far more power than he does. He doesn’t know how to tell them that he is only himself; he is not the star they make him out to be. He is just as powerless as they are. He has so much trust afforded to him and it drains him, knowing that he cannot ever fulfil that trust. There is nothing he treasures more than knowing he is able to assuage people’s fears, uplift their spirits, but it cannot go on like this forever.

Jun cannot see the future, but he knows that he’s certain to let everybody down. All this knowledge does is serve to drain him further. He has no right to complain, because he chose to do this, and he loves to see the positive change he effects, but living this way is so, terribly draining.

Sometimes it feels like Jun is constantly projecting his energy out into the world, giving it away as soon as anybody requests, and he can’t stop because to do so would be to let people down and he can’t afford to do that. But every night when he lies in bed, he can feel the impact, feel the way emptiness sits inside of him and makes room where his voicebox should be, where his lungs should be, where his stomach should be.

And of course, the only person who can understand this burden possesses both a burden far heavier than his, and the ability to see right through him.

Jun is not so oblivious that he doesn’t recognize what he feels for Jin.

He knows that it extends past sympathy, past understanding. His emotions run deep, building up with every casual touch and moment of vulnerability and late night conversation, and they escape him in caring and concerned words, in constantly sought-after conversations, in quiet moments spent together.

The way Jin smiles at him makes him feel dizzy, disconnected in an entirely different way to how his demanding life makes him feel. He knows that it doesn’t mean anything; Jin is an expert in smiling and he gives them away freely, probably just as freely as Jun does. It’s a part of their trade. It does not make Jun’s heart thud any less when it happens.

Jun knows that he is one of Jin’s closest friends, acting as a reliable confidant and companion. He also knows that he is not more than this. Jin freely calls Tachikawa his rival, bestows affectionate nicknames on Ikoma, invites Kizaki out for ramen; Jun knows that after them, there is nothing special about him.

It is a feeling Jun both loves and hates. It is so starkly refreshing for him—face of Border, captain of the fifth ranked team, star of Mikado—to not be special or extraordinary, and yet he would trade any of his rank and fame and glory for Jin to look at him like he was.

Some days, he hates being special. Jin makes him want to be.

Nothing makes his head happier than knowing that he makes people feel safe and reassured, but his heart sings only for Jin. His desperate, unreasonable heart clatters around in all of the emptiness inside of him and it defies him and defies his every carefully placed mask and wall. Jun has trained himself to put forth his best face, always a good front, and yet being around Jin makes him want to crumble crumble crumble.

He can’t, of course. Not in front of anybody, but especially not in front of Jin. Jin already carries enough, and far much more than that.

One person cannot and should not bear the weight of the future, and Jin Yuuichi, despite his strength and bravery and intelligence, is only one person.

So Jun adds him to the list of people he cannot let down, and squares up his shoulders again and again and again and knows that he is contributing to a lofty, shining cause.

It is a cause he believes in, wholeheartedly, which will only make it worse when he fails but: that is the future. That is a realm far out of Jun’s reach. He focuses on the present and smiles a little more.

  


“Jin,” Jun says, a hand reached out with the intention of pulling at his elbow, but retracted on second thought. They are tucked away in some corner of the hospital and Jun can recognize the distant look in Jin’s eyes; it is the one he has when he gets wrapped up in the past and in not-futures and all those other things that Jun can never hope to see.

He doesn’t acknowledge Jun’s call.

“It wasn’t your fault,” and it never is, and never will be.

“Wasn’t it?” Jin asks, his voice all the wrong types of quiet and hoarse.

When Jun shakes his head, because for once he can’t find the words, Jin turns to look at him. There’s a trace of a smile on his face, but it doesn’t make Jun feel any better about the situation. It’s the same smile Jun uses on those occasions when civilians question their safety and voice their concerns and he has to assuage them. It’s a projected smile, something made to be a little bigger than how he feels because sometimes, he has to be bigger than he is.

“I have a rule, you know,” Jin says casually, like they’re having a normal conversation. “Never regret decisions made in the past.”

He pauses after that but the silence feels incomplete and wanting, so Arashiyama does not disturb it. “I’ve never been one for playing by the rules, huh?”

The quiet that follows that is complete but crushing, constricting Jun’s lungs as he tries to find something to say.

In the end, he falls back on old and easy habits. A reassuring smile on his face, his tone moulded into something gentle, eyes soft in their affection.

“You’re doing what you can, Jin,” Jun murmurs. He will never have the answer to these problems; he is entirely too mundane for that, but he can offer something else. He can offer reassurance, commiseration, comfort. This is all he can offer. He just hopes that it is enough. Jun hopes that _he_ is enough for Jin. Jin deserves the world laid out in front of him and not weighted on his shoulders and Jun is so empty inside he is barely himself, much less the world, but he hopes anyway.

Jun steps closer. Jin does not move away. This time, he reaches out properly and Jin does not fight it, accepting the hand that curls around his own, squeezing softly.

“I know that it doesn’t feel like enough, but you’re doing all you can. You can’t carry everything alone,” and his words flow like water, sound like everything he’s ever said to Jin before in similar positions, different times. They never quite change anything, but Jun knows that sometimes it’s enough just to hear them.

Jin quirks a smile at that, a realer one than what he had before. Jun’s breath catches at seeing it; it feels like it’s been an age. He always feels like he goes too long between seeing Jin’s smiles: his real ones. Jun will settle for the fake ones too, but the genuine ones make him feel special like nothing else does.

“You would know, huh?” Jin says with a weak breathy laugh.

Jun finds himself smiling back. “Yeah. I guess I would.”

Jin, finally, seems to relax. The tension leaves his expression as he closes his eyes, glasses left pushed up in his hair for once. From where he is standing, Jun can see every change in his face, the way his lips part slightly as he breathes, the flutter of his eyelids. It’s nothing Jun hasn’t seen before, but he still drinks in the sight like it’s the first time, slow and appreciative and awed.

Jun has the sense of mind to look away before Jin opens his eyes.

Jun is honestly not sure if Jin has picked up on it or not—he’s perceptive, after all—but if he doesn’t know, Jun doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want him or his feelings to become another burden on Jin’s ever growing list.

“Thank you, Arashiyama,” says Jin. The gratitude is palpable in his words and it sets Jun’s heart running, because all he ever wants to do is help, and any weight lifted off of Jin’s shoulders, no matter how small, is something. He does what he can.

“Anytime,” replies Jun. He wants to say more because he means more, he means _anytime and I will be here, through all the bad times, and I want to be here for all the good times as well. I want to be here for it all, for you._

He meets Jin’s eyes and the look in them tells him that Jin knows. He lets go of Jin’s hand, and his heartache is merciful and soft.

Jin offers him another smile, subdued and quiet, but there regardless. It trickles inside of Jun and fills all of his emptiness, all of his silence, all of his powerlessness. Jun is seen as far bigger than he is, but behind those large and golden projections, this is all Jun ever wants. This is where he wants to make his home, come back to every day. He will give and give and give into the world because that is what is right and that is what he believes in, but under all of that, all his selfish and lovely and neglected heart will ever want is to pour himself into this: the carefully, gently crafted peace between himself and Jin Yuuichi.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this fic, please consider donating to my ko-fi! it's linked in [my carrd](http://arashiyama.carrd.co) \- thank you so much if you do!


End file.
